


Without A Name

by Zany_Frog



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abduction, Drugged Sex, Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Force-Feeding, Milking, Purple, Sex Machine, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, because im a creative person!, how tired am i?, oh well, pretty sure this isn't what you meant when you said that, purple tired, this is a fic with ocs who don't have names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 18:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11019405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zany_Frog/pseuds/Zany_Frog
Summary: Sans wasn't sure how he got here, but he was positive it wasn't good that he was.





	Without A Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Askellie (NadaNine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/gifts).



> ....I'm bad to the _bone_
> 
>  
> 
> *cough* I love you, Ellie *cough*

Sans wasn’t sure where he was, but he knew it wasn’t good. He couldn’t move, his clothes were gone, he couldn’t see anything (probably because of a blindfold, he could feel the fabric around his skull), and his magic had formed his penis. It wasn’t going away, he had tried. His magic hadn’t responded. He didn’t even know how he had gotten into this situation.

He’d just been sitting at home, hadn’t he? He hadn’t been outside or anything, just lazing on the couch watching TV. And he didn’t think he’d pissed anyone off so bad as to result in this, whatever _this_ was.

Any thoughts on the matter were abruptly cut off as he felt a hand around his dick. He let out a surprised moan, feeling oddly sensitive as the hand pumped him a few times. His struggle against whatever was holding him down went unheard and unheeded.

“St-stop!” His voice shook, his body heating up and a coil starting to form in his stomach. “A-ah! Please!”

He didn’t want this! Why would anyone do this? He tried again to escape, only managing to move his pelvis further into the stimulation. He cried out, whether from pleasure or surprise he didn’t know. It all felt so overwhelming.

The hand stopped and left his dick throbbing. Sans forced himself not to whine at the loss. Suddenly, the ropes - they had to be ropes, he felt how rough they were - were rubbing him in all the right places. He tried to breath through the pleasure, panting and squirming as his ribs and pelvis were especially stimulated.

What was this? What happened? What was happening?

He hiccuped as he felt his tears soak into the blindfold. Touch him. God, someone touch him. Where were they? Had he been left alone? He didn’t want to be alone.

No, no. Alone was good. Alone meant he could try and find a weak point in the...the ropes. They felt so good. He whined, trying to move so they would touch him, rub him. He wanted to be touched so badly.

“Shh, shh. It’s alright. C’mon, calm down, we’re not gonna hurt ya. Shhh, _relax_.” A hand enveloped his cheek while the thumb stroked around his eye socket and mouth soothingly.

Sans gasped in relief and did as he was told, relaxing into the hand holding his cheek and even daring to nuzzle into it. He shook with want, bucking his hips when the hand wrapped around his cock once more.

“Shh, calm down. We're gonna take care of you real good.”

Sans whimpered. “Pl-please.” He wasn't sure if it came out the way he wanted it to.

The hand moved, pumping him and bringing the pleasure back to fog his mind. He panted, leaning into the hand cupping his cheek. He gasped as more hands joined the first, rubbing at his ribs and spine. One hand trailed down his vertebrae, seeming to adjust some of the ropes in a way they made them all the more delicious. Sans cried out when the hand finally reached its destination, fingers prodding at his opening. Two were thrust in, burning in a way that only added to his pleasure. He moaned breathlessly, jolting when the fingers scissored inside him, stretching him even more.

“Mm, doesn't he sound good? I bet we could train him to be our personal slave.” The hand on his cheek moved up to pet him. Sans tried to follow the motion as much as he could.

“No, no, that wouldn't do. Y’know why we got him, and that wasn't the reason.”

“Aww, but I like that idea! Why shouldn't we get something outta this, huh?”

“Because we - ugh, it doesn't matter with you two. You'll probably do it anyways.”

The coil inside Sans's stomach was tightening to the point of almost being painful, clenching around the fingers still exploring his opening and trying to thrust into the hand that was wrapped around his dick.

The hand on his skull stopped its petting and pulled his chin up. “Now, now, pet, you can't cum yet.”

Sans whimpered, panting and squirming. The stimulation from the hands all stopped. “Please, please, I wanna cu-hnnng!”

He moaned as something warm was put around his dick, pumping it while sucking. It didn’t feel like a mouth, though. It wasn’t as slick or warm as a mouth would be, but that didn’t make sense. What was it?

“You can cum now, pet. Cum long and hard and keep going until you can’t anymore.”

Sans _screamed_. It felt like fire was burning through his body as it tried to arch, only to be stopped by the ropes holding him down. But that only made it better, the ropes pulling at the spaces between his vertebrae and searing pleasure through his body. Stars took over his vision, and they felt so much better than the real ones.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, tense and sweating as cum continued to spurt out of his dick and all consuming pleasure filled up his senses, but he was exhausted when it finally stopped. He was barely able to stay awake, even as pain from overstimulation coursed through his body as the thing around his dick kept sucking.

“Fuck, man, he must have a lotta magic.”

Sans heard the words but they didn’t truly process. His mind too jumbled and sluggish to even acknowledge he was the subject of the conversation.

“Shit, might as well just keep him on. A few more times, and we’ll be rich!”

“And he’ll be dead. I think it’s best to get him to cum again then call it a day, let him rest, and start again tomorrow.”

“Good idea. Best to keep this guy around.”

“Boss man probably wouldn’t even miss this guy if we took him, you know. With how much magic he gave we could take him and the boss wouldn’t even know anything was wrong.”

“Well, you two figure out if you’d rather have a good fuck toy or a shit ton of money. I’m gonna get him going again.”

Sans whimpered when suddenly the hands were on him again, writhing as best he could in the ropes that were suddenly not as appealing as before. Pain shot through him with every stroke of his ribs and spine, making him mumble out sounds that were almost pleas, almost begging. For mercy, for freedom, for anything other than the ache of unending overstimulation and sensitivity.

“Look, in the long run, I’d rather have more money. I’ve got a sick aunt, you know. Bills aren’t cheap.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Ah!” Sans jerked, feeling fingers press inside him and curl in just the right spot. He pulled desperately at the ropes now, having enough mind to realize that he might not live through another round of cumming.

“But wouldn’t you want a little stress relief now and then? Maybe we can have him on the machine half the time, then when he’s nice and compliant we can have some fun with him. Win-win situation.”

Sans was starting to feel the pain turn into pleasure, making him pant slightly and try to pull away from the stimulation on his cock, only to push himself further onto the fingers. They were hooked in just the right way, massaging in just the right place. The coil was curling in his stomach again.

“Hnng, haahh.” As it tightened, he thrusted thoughtlessly into the sucking around his dick.

“Mm, that's right, pet. C’mon, just a little more for your master. Cum as much as you can.”

“Ahhh~!” Sans tensed again, cumming just as long and hard as the first time. His dick throbbed with each spurt of cum until Sans finally passed out, slumping in his bonds with one last drip of cum slipping into the machine.

“Yeah, let's go with your plan.”

“Wait, you agree? I thought you wanted money more than a fuck toy.”

“Well, you talked me into it.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Awesome.”

…

Sans got used to following directions. Sit, stand, suck, pleasure. It had become normal and partially automatic. But just this once he didn't think he could follow them.

“Eat the damn food, pet.”

“I can't, Master. Plea-”

“Do you not enjoy my cooking?”

“Tha-that's not what I'm saying! I j-just don't think I c-can handle more!” Sans felt tears start to gather in his eyes. He couldn't handle anymore. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't!

“Oh, that's nonsense, fuck toy! Just look at that stomach, of course you can fit more. Now open your mouth.” The last sentence was said with a barely hidden threat. His Master lifted up a spoon full of mushy blueberry pie and nudged it against Sans's teeth.

Sans let his tears fall as he shook his head feebly and closed his eyes. He felt sick, his stomach gurgling and magic working overtime trying to break down all the food he’d eaten.

The sound of footsteps made Sans open his eyes and look to the side, briefly feeling a flash of morbid hope that one of his other Masters would take him to The Room to fuck him. But the hope died when all his Master did when he walked through the door was frown and grunt at the one trying to feed him.

“You’ve got some weird kinks, man.” He walked to the small fridge in the room and took out a beer.

“Shut up, asshole. Don’t think I didn’t notice you jerking it to the pet’s feet the other day.”

Sans watched them bicker a little longer before looking down at the ropes tying his hands to the seat, more to give himself a rest from looking at all the food containers than anything. It was difficult to ignore his stomach with how big it had gotten. If he had clothes, it probably would have been peeking out from under his shirt. He felt gross.

“So, what do you think I should do to get the little bitch to listen?” Sans automatically tuned into the conversation but didn’t lift his head to look at either of them.

“Hurt him, duh.” His Master rolled his eyes.

“Hey, don’t start acting like I’ve gone and killed a man before. I don’t know how to torture shit.”

“Don’t you watch BDSM stuff?”

“Doing is not the same as seeing.”

“Fine, just...I don’t know, fuck up his arm or something.”

The Master holding the spoon glared at the other. When the other didn’t react other than taking a sip of his beer, he let out a frustrated sigh and looked back to Sans. He narrowed his eyes, turning away and grabbing a knife before turning back to Sans.

Sans felt his eyes start to water even before the knife touched his bones. He was going to die here, he just knew it.

The cold touch of the knife made Sans close his eyes tightly and turn his head away, as if that would help him not feel the pain. His breath hitched when the blade dug into his bone, flakes of dust drifting to the floor. Sans shuddered and cried, the pain overriding his thoughts, but he stubbornly kept his mouth shut through each and every cut to his bones. Then, it blissfully and numbingly stopped.

“This isn’t working.”

“I can tell.”

“What now?”

“Try arousing him. He’s the moaning type, right?”

His Master looked thoughtful for a moment before he nodded decisively and put down the knife, turning around with a sinister smile. His hands began at Sans’s ribs, then trailed down to his pelvis, being sure to massage his stomach. Sans would have found the gesture charming if the circumstances were different. Much, much different.

Fingers toyed with the bones of his pelvis as his Master’s other hand went back to fondling his ribs. The fingers curled in between two ribs and pressed against the underside, making hesitant pleasure curl in his stomach. Sans didn’t want this, but his magic reacted as if he did. It formed a cunt as more tears rolled down his blushing face.

Sans would have thought how pathetic it was that he had formed something so soon if he wasn’t so busy trying to keep his mouth shut. He hated this. He hated how the pleasure only got worse as his Master flicked his clit with his finger, making Sans gasp and jerk in his bonds.

As soon as his mouth opened, a spoon was shoved into his mouth and he was forced to chew and swallow. The sugary stickiness felt wrong, clinging to his teeth and tongue as he chewed. He wanted nothing more than to spit it on the floor and clean his mouth out with anything he could reach, but his Master watched him with a smirk on his face and another spoon already in his hand. He swallowed with a sort of mechanical morbidity, as if sealing his fate.

How long would this last? And how long could he handle it?

…

“Hey, fuck toy, go get in the room. We're gonna have fun tonight.”

Sans tried not to cry. He was already exhausted from the machine; he didn’t think he could take another round, much less one with his Masters. “Y-yes, Master. Any pre-preferences today?”

“Hmm, get out the cart. I think the boys said they wanted to have some medical play today.” Master smirked down at him. “And don’t even think of sleeping yet. You're so hard to wake up, I doubt you'd be any fun.”

“O-of course, Master.” He shakily got to his feet and bowed. He yelped as his Master smacked his naked pelvis and hastily stumbled to The Room. He hated The Room more than he hated the machine. Every time his Masters touched him, they were either hooking him up to the machine or they were in The Room. He felt nausea cling to his bones every time one of them so much as looked at him, not to mention _touched_.

Every time he was told to go to The Room, he felt a yearning for...for Papyrus, for Toriel and Asgore. For _anyone_ to come and save him, help him, _something_. He just wanted to leave, to get out and never think about this again, like he had done with the Resets.

Sans had forced himself to not think of the others when he figured a week had gone by. Now he didn't know how long it had been, too many days were smudged together in his mind, but each and every thought of what used to be stabbed his soul, making his very essence tremble in pain and terrible, terrible _want_. If he didn't think about them, then he could focus on the physical pain and the rare pleasure. He could not think at all. He could separate his slave self from his normal self and not focus on how touch was now a thing he hated and felt sick even imagining.

Sans slumped as soon as he was in The Room, looking around for the cart that his Master wanted. It was a small metal thing, probably used for fancy wine and glasses before turning up here with rust covering its swirled design. It was full of tools meant for doctors, sharp and pointy and covered in Sans's dust more often than not.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash outside the door and Sans panicked. If he didn't have the cart out like Master wanted, then he would get punished, no matter how low his magic was after his time with the machine. He frantically looked around The Room, running around and looking in all the places he couldn't see from where he stood.

There was another crash closer to the door, then hammering footsteps. The door swung open with so much force that it put a dent in the metal wall and fell partway to the floor.

Sans turned and collapsed to the ground, tears welling up in his eyes as he bowed to his Master with his forehead pressed to the floor. “I-I'm so sorry, M-Master! I-I didn't get the cart l-like you asked! Pl-please forgive me!”

All was quiet except for Sans's muffled sobs that sounded so much louder to the small skeleton now than they've ever sounded before. He hiccuped as he heard the footsteps begin to near him, curling away as much as he could while still bowing. His arms instinctively covered his skull when the footsteps were right in front of him.

“Sans.”

The voice was breathless and quiet, definitely not one of his Masters’. Sans peeked out from under his arms, looking at the red boots in front of him.

Red...red boots? It couldn't be him. It wasn't Papyrus. It's been too long, he had been forgotten by his friends, his family. He knew they couldn't have found him.  
But, despite his doubts, Sans lunged for this stranger’s legs and sobbed louder as he clung to them. “Please, please. Help me, please. Save me, save me, oh god, please. I'll do anything, please.”

His words were hushed and quick and he shook so much that his rattling probably covered them up, but he chanted and mumbled and begged anyway. He clung to their legs and bawled as if they would actually help him. He knew they wouldn't, but hope was all he had here.

It took a moment for Sans to realize that the person was talking, shushing him and gently patting his back. His bones crawled as soon as he noticed the contact, but he didn't pull away.

“Shh, Sans, it's alright. It's okay now. Come on, let go. It's okay, shhh.”

Sans did what the voice said hesitantly, pulling his arms away from the stranger's legs and sitting back with his head bowed. He didn't want to look up and see someone other than his brother standing there.

When he saw the stranger crouch down, he tentatively looked at their chest. He sucked in a breath, eyes widening at the armor he saw there. The armor he had created with his own two hands, and something Papyrus would never take off. He reached out a shaking hand, feeling the dented metal under his fingertips. It was real.

Sans looked up and nearly broke down at the sight of his brother’s worried face. His beautiful, amazing brother. Sans lunged forward and wrapped his arms around him. _His brother_. “Pa- _Papyrus_.”

Papyrus fell back on his pelvis and held Sans close to him, crying along with him, though much quieter. He wrapped his scarf around his naked brother and nuzzled into the top of Sans’s skull as he got to his feet. Sans was tucked safely into his chest as Papyrus walked out of The Room.

“It’s okay now, brother. Come on, let’s get out of this place.”

Sans didn’t reply, only clinging to him tighter with a whine that was quickly followed by a sob. Papyrus began shouting to the others in the room, confirming that he had gotten his brother and it was time to leave if everyone else had been saved. He quieted down for a moment, squeezing Sans tighter and whispering, “You’re safe.”

Sans felt that, with his brother holding him as he walked out the door of the building that kept him hidden for more than a year, he could believe those words.


End file.
